FicWad

Chapter 1 - Scarlet Lips



Frank Iero is banging frantically on his neighbor's front door, hoping that his knocks could be heard over their deafening music. He trembles against the winter chill, wishing that he could be back in his warm, comfy bed. But his mother had insisted that he be the one to come over here and ask their neighbors to turn down the music. Frank scoffs as "I Believe In A Thing Called Love" by The Darkness blares through the night air, disturbing the suburban silence. It takes another 5 minutes of knocking before the door finally swings open.

It's a boy a few years older than Frank. He sways in the doorway holding a shiny, red cup that's most likely filled with booze. His wild, hazel eyes glisten with recognition as he stares intoxicatingly at Frank. Long black hair hangs loosely above his shoulders, curling at the ends and tangling messily around his face. Frank can't help but notice the small, white scar the runs along his chin. He wears a drunken smile on his thin, pale lips.

"Whataya want, Kid?" Gerard Way asks curtly, taking a sip from his plastic cup, "Isn't it a little late for you to be out of bed?"

Frank decides to ignore the last question. He swallows hard and opens his mouth to speak, "I-I was just wondering if y-you could maybe... turn the music down." He feels like an idiot as soon as the words leave his lips. Gerard has been his neighbor for almost 12 years and he still can't form a proper sentence in front of him.

The older boy's eyes are gleaming with malice, as he looks Frank up and down. Frank suddenly feels overly self-conscious with his disheveled hair, purple robe and askew glasses. His cheeks quickly flood with heat.

"So… a-are you going to turn it down?" the younger boy asks coolly, trying his best to sound unaffected.

Gerard looks contemplative as he takes another sip from his cup. He leans in closer to Frank and stares directly into his eyes. His warm breath dances across Frank's icy skin, making him shiver. He answers, "No."

And with that he slams the door shut, leaving Frank out in the bitter cold.


___________________________*__________________________


"Out of the way, fag!" is the last thing Frank hears before Brian Pearson's fist connects with the side of his mouth. He falls to the ground, books flying out of his hands and sliding across the linoleum floors. Some kids laugh at him while others shake their heads in disapproval. On his hands and knees, Frank scrambles to retrieve his books but the hoard of students making their way out of the school at the same time prevent him from getting very far. He slumps backward, pressing his spine into the flimsy, metal lockers behind him.

Tawny Roberts pushes through the crowd, using her diminutive size to her advantage in order to get to Frank.When she finally reaches him, she drops to her knees beside him. “Shit, Frank. Are you okay?” Tawny asks as she takes hold of his tremulous hands, looking into Frank's large, honey eyes with her brilliant sapphires. She reaches out to touch his bleeding lip, but he flinches away from her touch.

Without a word, he rises to his feet, ignoring the surge of nausea that washes through him.

"Do you want me to help you to the nurse?" she asks, looking worriedly up at her friend.

"N-no, I'm fine," he says quietly, bending down to pick up his fallen books. There's a long pause as she watches him scrape up his torn pages from the floor. For as long as she and Frank have been friends, he's been a prime target for bullies. But despite Tawny’s insistence, Frank refuses to do anything about it.

“Are you sure?” she asks, slightly ticked off that he was just going to ignore his injuries.

“Yeah… besides I’m late for my tutoring lesson," he purposely avoids her eyes so that he doesn't have to see the disappointment present within them, "I’ll see you later, okay."

Frank turns and heads down the empty hallway to the Math department. His lower lip is still bleeding, making his mouth glimmer with a crimson sheen. He uses the sleeve of his jacket to wipe away the blood before he reaches the classroom door. He checks his wrist watch, finding that he's late by only 5 minutes. Gripping the cool metal of the doorknob, he pushes forward and enters the room. But there's no one there. He sighs before dumping his books and crumpled papers on a desk in the front row and sitting down. Every Tuesday and Thursday, Mrs. Blyton (the head Math teacher) arranges for Frank to meet with one of her students who are near failing to tutor them. He didn't know who the student would be today. It's usually just jocks who need to attain at least a C average in order to play their sport.

He shuffles through his sheets and quietly waits, occupying his time by reading the tiny scribbles bored students had made on the desk over the years.

Ten minutes pass before the classroom door finally swings open and Frank thinks he might just die. The black haired boy strolls casually into the room, hazel gaze landing on Frank. Of all people, why him? Why does it have to be Gerard frickin' Way? Frank thinks to himself. He could hardly speak in front of the boy, much less teach him how to solve algebraic equations. Gerard just smirks as he raises his diet coke to his lips and takes a quick swig. Frank swallows thickly as he tries to stop his head from spinning.

"Y-you're late," the younger boy says, hating the way his voice quivers.

Gerard's thin lips form a smile, "Actually... you're late. I was here on time, surprisingly enough. I waited around for about... 30 seconds before I took off." He pulls a chair out from one of the desks at the front of the room and sits, propping his boot clad feet up on the desk, "Shit, it's not exactly like I want to be here."

Frank nods even though he's not sure why. His lip is throbbing and his mind is whirling and his gut is twisting in ways he never thought were possible. He grabs his notebook and opens it to a clean page. What are we doing today, what are we doing? What am I doing?

"What topic are you on?" Frank asks, voice strained.

Gerard sniffs, running a pale fingertip over the jagged scar that graces his chin, "I don't know, Kid. Isn't it you're job to figure those things out."

It's then that Frank notices that the older boy has no books or supplies with him, "Well, no. Y-you're supposed to tell me what... you're struggling with and, and I'll h-help you."

Gerard simply smirks at Frank as he pulls out a packet of Marlboros from his jacket pocket. He takes a stick from the box and fishes around in his pocket for the lighter. When he retrieves it he places the cigarette between his chapped lips and lights up. Frank watches him in shock. Smoking on school grounds is strictly prohibited and in any other situation, he would have scolded the student that broke this rule. But something about the malicious look in Gerard's eyes tells Frank that it'd be best to hold his tongue.

"So how exactly are you going to help me, Frank?" He takes a long drag from the cig, sending wispy clouds of smoke floating up to the ceiling. He leans back in his seat, letting his shirt ride up to expose a strip of milky, porcelain skin.

Tiny butterflies flutter mercilessly in Frank's tummy, his head feels as light as a feather. He doesn't quite understand why Gerard has the ability to make him feel so uncomfortable... so helpless... so stupid. He just wants it to stop.

"I... I don't know," he answers, suddenly feeling deeply confused. His brain has turned to mush and his scarlet lips are throbbing. All he can think about are the tiny clouds of smoke floating around in the air; how much he wants to become them. And those wild, wild hazel eyes. And those pale, pale lips. And everything in between.

Gerard quickly rises from his chair, self-satisfied smirk on his face, "See you around, Kid," he mumbles before leaving the room soundlessly.

A/N: Yay! My new story.
I really missed Ficwad. I'm excited to get back into it again.
Hope you guys like this one. It's much more dramatic than what I usually do.
Anyways, tell me what you think.


Story title credit: "Don't Stand So Close to Me" by The Police.